Second Intention by Anthony Venner Page A

again in the last 32.
    I turned to Sue and smiled.
    ‘Now it gets interesting,’ I said.

Five
     
    My first DE fight, against Hartson, was just a formality really. He wasn ’t on form, and I most definitely was, having been well and truly woken up in my defeat by Toby. I took him to pieces, and breezed through 15-4, the few hits he managed to rack up having come from doubles.
    As soon as I ’d finished I got my tracksuit on, dumped my epees, and we strolled over to watch Toby finishing off his bout, from a discreet distance of course. Although he won fairly easily I did notice that there were one or two instinctive moves he was making, which could prove useful to know about if I could find a way to exploit them. Each time his opponent stepped forward he was lifting his sword hand, and every time he tried a second intention move he prefaced it with a little flicker of the fingers on his left hand.
    Learning to “read” an opponent is one of the things which marks the good swordsmen from the mediocre, and I always make a point of trying to watch the next guy I’m up against, if I can. Toby was displaying habits which I would certainly try and work on.
    Their bout finished, and he turned away looking smarmy. We probably had a few minutes before we were due to meet, so I decided to go and get some more water down my throat. Sue strolled over to watch Sean making mincemeat of some poor kid from one of the minor public schools, and reported back that he was looking really fired up. It didn ’t really bother me that much. He and I were in different halves of the tableau, which meant the only way we would have to cross swords together was if we both made it to the final, which would have been nice, but highly unlikely.
    Eventually the time came when the fights for the places in the last 32 were called. Toby and I were going to be the first bout on piste seventeen, across on the far side of the hall, and as I looked across I was relieved to see that we had a president  waiting for us who knew what he was doing. Oliver Heazel is one of the best presidents you ’ll find at provincial open tournaments, and I knew he wasn’t going to take any nonsense from the likes of Toby.
    As we strolled over, hauling all my kit along, Oliver saw us and gave an encouraging smile.
    ‘Alright, Richard?’ He extended his hand and I gave it a shake. ‘I see you’ve lined up a good one for me.’
    He had obviously heard about the business with Toby earlier on. I nodded and gave him a wry smile. He knew how the bout should have gone.
    ‘ And the lovely Susan,’ he went on, taking her hand and giving it the gentlest of kisses, a move which would look cheesy from most men but which he somehow seemed to get away with. ‘You’re looking as beautiful as ever.’
    ‘ You’re not looking so bad yourself,’ she replied, with a smile.
    Everybody seems to get on with Oliver, and it ’s hard not to get drawn by his charm. Everybody except Toby, that is, who arrived with a look of disdain on his face. Still, there was nothing he could do about it, since Oliver’s reputation for being scrupulously fair in his presiding meant that there was absolutely no point in protesting his officiating this fight.
    I wired myself up and presented my weapon to Oliver for testing. The rules for epee are very clear: the spring loaded tip must have 750 grams of force and there needs to be at least half a millimetre of travel left in the tip when it is compressed before it sets off the box. To check this, presidents have a feeler gauge to check the travel and a tubular weight, weighing exactly 750 grams, which the epee must lift when held vertically, point upwards. Weapons should always be tested for DE bouts, though quite often people don ’t bother until the final stages. Oliver was the sort of president who would never cut corners on something like that.
    Mine passed, as I expected, since I always prepare all my weapons meticulously the day before a competition